As the years go by, my dear, it is more obvious that
you’re about as useful as this bobble on my hat.
Your eye has turned to roving and you’re out most every night.
Anger’s the main emotion that you’re able to incite.
You’ve forfeited my trust. You are taking me for granted.
You find me just as tasty as a wine that’s been decanted
for so long that it has molded and started to go sour.
Once put upon a pedestal, I’ve fallen from my tower.
Once you thought domesticity was like a field of clover,
whereas it’s obvious now that you would rather be a rover.
So best that you be off. The sooner gone would be just fine.
Your stuff is in this bag. As you recall, the ranch is mine!!